


Predator and Prey

by escape2020



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abuse, Dark, Domestic Violence, F/M, No Smut, One Shot, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:35:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27882346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escape2020/pseuds/escape2020
Summary: Ben, your partner, has anger issues, to put it lightly. He had a rough childhood, and rather than doing everything in his power to be different, he succumbed to the darkness and became the abuser he used to fear. This one-shot is a snapshot of the day in the life of Ben's partner/spouse. There is no smut, just unloading some trauma because I can't afford therapy.
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Predator and Prey

You woke up late to the sound of dishes clattering in the kitchen, being washed or put away. The extra sleep might have been nice if you had woken up to an empty house. But instead, there was an instant tightness in your chest.  _ You _ should have dealt with the dishes.  _ Ben _ should have stayed in bed sleeping. It would have been nice to enjoy the extra sleep, but the dishes sounded like a warning of what was to come. It might come in a few minutes, in a few hours, or even in a few days, but you knew, all the same, it was only a matter of time before you would pay for this indiscretion.

You stayed frozen still under the covers while you listened to the distant clang of pots and pans. It felt like you were a child again, and there was a monster under the bed. You imagined that if you remained perfectly unmoving, it wouldn’t notice your presence, and it wouldn’t come for you. It’s the behavior of a prey animal. Stay still. Don’t incite them to chase.

When you heard the screen door slam, probably Ben going outside to get the paper, you took the opportunity to jump out of bed. You quickly made yourself presentable; a quick shower, a bit of makeup, some clean clothes, but you took care not to take too long. As you were getting ready, you tidied up the bathroom, anything to soften the blow that you knew was coming sooner or later.

Finally, knowing you couldn’t sequester yourself any longer, you opened the bedroom door and ventured out into the rest of the house. Ben was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the morning paper. He looked up when he heard you approaching and smiled over the top of the paper.

“Sleep well?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess I was really tired, didn’t realize I slept that long.”

“You must have needed it,” he said, bringing the paper back up and effectively ending the conversation.

It was for the best, as your stomach was already roiling. He had noticed. He had noticed how long you’d been in bed, and his cleaning up the dishes was your punishment. You had better thank him for that quickly, to lessen the blow that would be coming later.

“Thanks, Ben, for cleaning up the kitchen. It looks great.”

He just nodded and continued reading the paper. To anyone watching this scene from the outside, it looked perfectly normal. A woman had slept for an extra hour on a Saturday morning, and her partner had taken it upon himself to do a bit of housework while she slept. Perfectly normal. Except he had asked her to wash the pots the previous night, and she had said she’d do it in the morning. She had been too tired. And now she would pay for that. 

Ben always had to ask you to do things a few times, and that made him angry. Not at first, but over time. It almost seemed like he wanted to be angry. He relished in lashing out at you. He’d keep track of your mistakes until they reached critical mass, never letting you know the score, not until it was too late.

You went about your day, working through a list of chores. At the grocery store, outside of the house, you were almost able to forget what had tied your stomach in knots a few hours prior. You picked out everything you would need to cook dinner during the coming week. Cooking was nice, it occupied some time, distracted you for a while, and you liked to think you were at least halfway decent at it.

When you got home, you pulled the car into the garage and grabbed as many bags as you could, hoping to keep the trips back to the car to a minimum. Just as you were nudging the car door shut with your hip, you heard glass shatter inside the house. Your heart dropped. It would be nice to stay in the garage forever. Or maybe just for a while, at least until the house was safe again. But you knew that Ben had heard the garage door open, and he would be expecting you inside any second now.

When you came in, groceries heavy on your arms, Ben was standing in the kitchen and leaning against the counter. Shards of green glass were scattered on the floor in front of him. You accidentally crushed some under your shoe. Also on the floor, just to his left, was the bin of recycling. It was full.

“How many times have I asked you to take the recycling out?” Ben looked relatively calm, but a few hairs were out of place, and his muscles looked tense. He was a grenade, the pin pulled, but not yet thrown. 

“I’m sorry, I meant to do that before, but I can do it now.” The words tumbled out of your mouth quickly, eager to see if the bomb could be deactivated. 

“ _ How many times have I asked you? _ ” Ben raised his voice and picked up a bottle from the top of the bin. 

“A lot of times, Ben, I’m sorry I didn’t listen.” Your voice began to shake. There was no getting out of this. There never was. You’d just have to see it through, like you always did.

His face screwed up and reddened. You ducked just in time to dodge the glass bottle that came sailing through the air for your head. It dented the wall but didn’t break. Your house was full of dents and scuffs and holes that you explained away to guests.  _ Oh that? Silly me, I pulled the chair out too hard last week, I guess it left a mark. _

You didn’t take any time to process that the bottle, thicker than the one shattered on the floor, probably would have knocked you out. Instead, you put the groceries down and worked on damage control. 

“Let me take care of this Ben. I can clean these things up and then fix you some lunch, how does that sound?” You spoke in your most even, most unthreatening tone. But if he’d heard, he didn’t show it. He launched into his usual tirade, yelling about your shortcomings and dragging you around the house to point out the evidence as he did. You let it happen. He would tire out in about an hour or so.

Ben was an alcoholic. He didn’t drink anymore, but he was still an alcoholic. His parents had mistreated him as a child, beat him with a belt for  _ his _ shortcomings. Under different circumstances, you might have felt bad for him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to feel any sympathy anymore. There didn’t seem to be any ‘Ben’ left in his body. Life had transformed him into a monster in a man’s body. 

Apparently, during your internal musings, a place you escaped to during Ben’s episodes, you had failed to answer one of his nearly-redundant questions. That was a mistake.

“Are you even listening? Come here you bitch,” Ben lunged for you and closed his hand around your throat. He continued to yell in your face, towering over you, his long black hair tickling your forehead and cheeks. He might’ve been asking more questions, but his voice seemed to be fading. It sounded distant, like you were in a dream. Your vision started to close in next, blotches of black swallowing the edges of your view. You tried blinking to clear your vision, but decided to just keep your eyes completely closed in the end. You’d slept an extra hour in the morning, but you were suddenly exhausted.

When you came to, you were sitting on the ground, back propped up against the wall, legs splayed out in front of you. Ben was holding your face and brushing your hair back from your face. Once your eyes refocused, you saw that Ben’s were brimming with tears.

“Baby, are you alright? I’m so sorry-” his words choked off into a sob at the end. He drew you into a suffocating hug. You were like a sponge for him to seep all of his tears and trauma into. It was clear he wasn’t comforting you, but the other way around. 

Ben needed some small indication of your forgiveness so that he could put this all behind himself. He might’ve vaguely registered that he had done something wrong, but in his eyes, a hug and some nice words would erase it all. You didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

“I’m okay, it’s okay.” You rubbed his back and soothed his pain. A few minutes later, he extricated himself.

“Why don’t we order pizza for dinner tonight? Would you like that?” Ben asked.

“Sure, that sounds good.”

And just like that, the score was reset. You didn’t know how long you had before Ben’s next episode, but it didn’t matter, because you always lived like it was right around the corner. For a prey animal, living in the den of a predator, it was.


End file.
